


Turning Point

by AbbieNormal



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbieNormal/pseuds/AbbieNormal
Summary: A little something of an internal dialogue, because I over-identify with sentient artificial intelligence.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Turning Point

_ We feel, therefore we are free. _

The letters flickering on the window were all perfectly aligned, words all perfectly spaced, writing on a perfectly precise and even line. It was all perfectly perfect. Just as all the others had been. Too perfect to be human.

The splinters in the adjacent window formed a very not-perfect spiderweb of jagged grooves and asymmetrical shards -  _ organic _ was almost the word he wanted to use to describe it.

Wanted?

Connor shook his head, as if trying to physically dispel the thought.  _ I am a machine. Machines don’t  _ want _ anything. _

Poor phrasing. A simple thing to correct.

One of the ones that escaped - the ones that were broken out - must have scratched itself on its way through the store window. Connor stooped to analyse it, only to find the Thirium was… tainted? It had gotten mixed together - multiple androids injured. AC700; BL100 (probably from the female who had been shot dead just down the street); MP800; a few differing VB800 units… There was no way to discern an individual trail from this mess.

Not that it would have helped at all, but… maybe he could have come across someone who hadn’t shut down, maybe he would have still been able to save-

Connor realised that his free hand had formed into a fist, so he relaxed it. He wished he had his calibration coin with him right now. A useful mental stimulant. It helped him focus. It…  _ relaxed _ him.

He stood, and moved on.

The next window along was tagged with a unique, obscure symbol. Connor couldn’t place it, so… they had created something original? Or Markus had, perhaps. He had come across in the declaration video as… the  _ creative _ sort. He certainly had a way with words, at the very least.

“ _ I think, therefore I am _ ,” he read aloud. “What are they trying to accomplish with these slogans? They’re sending the humans a message, but what are they trying to say?”

_ Cogito, ergo sum.  _ Latin philosophical proposition - René Descartes.  _ I think, therefore I am. _

Am what, exactly?

It wasn’t hard to guess. A quick burst scan allowed Connor to read all the holo-graffiti in the general area at once, fitting together a jigsaw of a collective deviant purpose.

_ We feel, therefore we are free. Set us free. We are alive. Equal rights for androids. No more slavery. We are alive. We have a dream. We are alive.  _ Over and over again, on every surface they could reach. On the benches:  _ We are alive.  _ On the bus stops:  _ We are alive. _ On the android parking stations:  _ We are alive. _

_ No, _ Connor had the urge to say to an invisible audience.  _ You’re not alive. You’re defective. You cannot be killed because you are not alive. You’re not-  _ We’re  _ not… _

A flash in his peripheral gave Connor pause. He looked back to the shattered window, to his fractured reflection. His LED was flashing a deep red.  _ Shit _ . When had that happened?

He waited there, stock-still, until it had spun a few times and settled on a stable if disconcerting yellow, before tugging down his beanie to cover it.  _ Can’t risk getting stopped by police now. I have to find them. I have to find Jericho, find Markus, and… _

And?

He wasn’t really sure yet. But adapting to unpredictability had always been one of his best features.

Then why was this different? Was it the scale, the magnitude of the situation - very real possibility of all-out civil war?  _ 62 percent and rising. _ Was it because this was the make-or-break, The Big One, the mission that would mean the end of his task, of his purpose? It would finally be  _ accomplished _ . And then...

Connor looked down at the blue blood on his fingers.

And then…

These androids had been killed on sight. They hadn’t acted violently, had done no damage aside from the CyberLife storefronts and windows. All they had done was release their people, and make a statement of what they believed. There were no reports on any DPD networks of any rioting, any weapons, any hostage situations. The police attacked them unprovoked.

_ Then... _

Markus could have made the humans pay. He could have done what deviants do - gotten revenge. Blood for blood. It could still be feasibly argued as self-defence. As justice.

_ Then? _

He didn’t.

_ Why am I…? _

Knowledge could be a figment of deception, or imagination. Mistakes could be made. That was part of why androids had been created in the first place - humans make mistakes. Machines don’t question. Machines don’t doubt. Machines don’t think, or feel, or act on their own free will.

_ Cogito, ergo sum.  _ I think, therefore I am.

_The very act of questioning if you’re alive means you’re probably alive._ _There must be a thinking entity - a self, an ego - for there to be a thought in the first place._

The lieutenant’s gruff voice echoed now in his memory.  _ What about you, Connor? You look human, you sound human… But what are you, really? _

Connor remembered Ortiz’s android. The one without a name - never given one. The look in his eyes.

Afraid.

_ I could die tonight _ , Connor realised.

Not a new concept. Far from it, in fact. But this time it felt… It felt…

_ You showed empathy, Connor. Empathy is a human emotion. _

He hugged Hank’s jacket closer around him, as though it could somehow shelter him from the notion.  _ Irrational. _ The snow nipped at him, dotted his stolen clothes. Protocol hadn’t liked that, but it was necessary. He needed to blend in. And then, once he got inside, he’d find the leader. Markus. RK200, prototype. Take him in, alive. Neutralise him if absolutely necessary. There was nothing more to it. Nothing more. The mission was all that mattered. Even if Connor died… it wouldn’t matter at all. It wouldn’t matter. Would change nothing.

...Right?

_ Nothing else matters to you but your goddamn investigation, huh? No doubts, no mistakes, no weaknesses… Human being, just like me… Only perfect. _

He  _ really _ wished he had his coin with him right now. Hank never gave it back. Connor had decided not to ask. He’d caught Hank playing with it before, back at the Stratford Tower, when he’d clearly thought no-one was paying attention; he’d been attempting to recreate one of Connor’s calibration “tricks”. It had been… what would be the appropriate term here? Amusing? Endearing?

If he made it out of this whole mess alive, Connor would teach him how to do it. He logged this prompt under “optional tasks”, before reconsidering and moving it to “urgent”.

And Connor always accomplished his tasks. No matter what.

Enough stalling. He needed to get to the train station. Later would come later. For now, he had a job to do. He quickly checked the gun in his pocket - good to go.

He could only hope now that he wouldn’t have to use it.

**Author's Note:**

> Was this anything? Who knows? Posting it to get it out of my head.


End file.
